


Bad Cop, Good Cop

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [22]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU of The Other Lane, Gen, Magic Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Risking his life and his career to avenge his partner’s death and prove he’s a good cop, Roy Lane leads his brother and Team One on a wild night of shootings and stand-offs.  As the night draws to a deadly climax, Roy discovers the arms dealer he’s after has a secret of his own…a secret Team One knows all too well.  AU of The Other Lane





	1. Separations and Gunshots

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for 03x05: The Other Lane. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the twenty-second in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Blessings".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.
> 
> As of this story, I've changed the way I do my first chapter(s). I will, in time, go back and change all my prior stories with very short Prologues. I hope. I also hope this change is for the better. Feedback very much appreciated.

Above the shipyard, stars twinkled in the depths of the night sky. Winter, long since settled in, showed in the misty breaths of the cops and Aurors assembled outside the shipyard’s gate. Braddock and Wordsworth muscled the gate open, clearing the way for their teammates and Auror colleagues. Guns and wands were at the ready, though Team One was in front.

“Let’s get in there, guys. You know the drill,” team leader Ed Lane ordered briskly.

The Aurors hung back, unsure of themselves in the purely tech area; they followed Team One as closely as they dared, trusting their tech-side colleagues’ expertise. Team One, for their part, stayed grouped up, eyes on the move and weapons at the ready as they moved into the jungle of shipping containers and warehouses.

From the Command Truck, Spike called, “I’ve got a cluster of containers in the shipyard’s northeast sector. I’m uploading a map to you now.” His fingers flew on the keyboard, sending the image in front of him to the team’s phones.

In the northeast sector, a green shipping container stood in a small clearing, stacks of shipping containers all around it. An old, blue, utility truck stood near its open door and a man with an automatic rifle paced, keeping his eyes open for any uninvited guests.

Inside the container, another man stood guard with his own rifle as two final men stood over the open crates of neatly packed weapons. One man inspected the rifle he’d just pulled out with a handheld worklight, checking for any serial numbers on the stock. The other man finished opening a crate, revealing several more packed weapons as he spoke. “All right, you got another forty units right here, near-mint condition.”

Not far from the green container, the patroller was blindsided by a large, husky constable, who slammed him into a shipping container and forced the rifle he was carrying downward. The patroller’s grip tightened on his weapon and several rounds discharged into the ground.

“Door!” the rear-most man in the shipping container ordered; his bodyguard quickly pulled the heavy shipping container door shut.

Next to a blue shipping container, Constable Lane reached its corner and peeked around, weapon up and ready. At the sight of the green shipping container, he jerked back, keeping himself in cover as he yelled, “Open up the container. Throw your weapons out! Do it now!” As he yelled, his boss, hefting a shield, and his teammate Jules worked their way into positions of their own around the closed container.

Inside the green container, the rear-most man had worked his way to the door and now peered out, spotting a female constable in the reflection of the old truck’s side mirror. Keeping his voice down, he hissed to his bodyguard, “She’s exposed right here.”

“Let me see,” the bodyguard requested; the two quickly traded places. Behind them, the third man watched, his eyes alert, his stance familiar.

“Can you get her?”

“I can ricochet it as a forehead shot.”

“You see it, take it.”

Jules peered around the corner.

* * * * *

_3 hours earlier_

Team One had gotten the worse end of the bargain as winter marched on. Commander Holleran, still a bit irked at his top team, had put them on night shifts for the next month; the commander was turning his displeasure into an art form, but Team One knew better than to complain. They were still working magic-side, they were still keeping the peace, and they’d all worked night shifts before. Greg, in the interests of keeping his _nipotes_ on regular schedules, had gotten both Shelley Wordsworth and Sophie Lane to agree to hosting them on alternating nights, so they wouldn’t be woken up by him returning at ungodly hours of the morning. Greg was just hoping the arrangement wasn’t making things worse between Ed and Sophie…she hadn’t been happy with Ed since he’d put a hot call before her doctor’s appointment two months ago.

For tonight, Team One was cutting loose in the workout room. Wordy and Spike were working with Jules, teaching her a new takedown maneuver, while Sam and Lou spotted each other with the free weights. Greg, enjoying an evening off from paperwork, was bracing a punching bag while Eddie went at it. Naturally, the Sergeant was taunting his friend. “Come on. Who is this guy?”

Ed countered without even looking up, “What, are you getting tired?”

“Come on. Leave something in the tank,” Greg teased.

Over on the mat, Jules took Spike down again, in a close-to-flawless practice run of the new takedown. “She got it!” Spike called from the mat.

“She got it?” Wordy asked.

“Oh, yeah, got it,” Jules replied.

Leaning over, Wordy coached, “Hold him down there like…” He laughed at the pathetic look Spike contrived to shoot him from the floor, Jules snickering too.

Greg spied the new arrival first: a pregnant Sophie Lane, fairly glowing as she came in. Long dark brown hair fell in gentle waves to her shoulders, framing her wide smile, pert nose, and laughing brown eyes. Her jewelry and makeup were modest, in deference to her condition, but she still managed to appear perfectly put together, in a black tank top and a stylish black jacket. She was about Greg’s height and normally rather athletic, though that was currently hidden by the little one in her belly.

“Hey, look who it is,” Greg told his friend, who was still whaling away at the punching bag. “Look who it is.” Moving away and tapping Ed on the shoulder, he repeated one final time, “Look who it is!”

“Hey, guys,” Sophie called as she entered the room, smiling at the entire group.

“Hey-hey!” Spike returned enthusiastically, bouncing up from the floor as the team migrated over to Ed’s wife.

“Hey, Sophie,” Wordy greeted.

“You got that glow thing going on, huh?” Spike observed, his voice upbeat and perky.

“How you feeling?” Jules asked.

“Good,” Sophie replied.

As he drew Sophie in for a brief hug, Greg chided, “What are you doing on your feet?”

“Doc says I’m okay as long as I don’t exert myself too much,” Sophie informed her husband’s old friend and boss.

As he drew back out of Eddie’s way, Greg remarked, “You look terrific.”

“Hey,” Sophie greeted Ed as they hugged.

“Hello. How are you?” Ed’s wide smile conveyed his pleasure at his wife’s presence.

“Good,” Sophie reassured her husband. “I thought I’d come by and say hello.”

“What’s going on?” Ed questioned, drawing a slightly awkward pause.

Greg clapped his hands to draw his team’s attention. “Let’s sweat!”

As Wordy agreed with his own comment of, “All right, let’s get back to it,” Sophie drew Greg’s attention back to her.

“Greg, I dropped the kids off at the Wordsworths for tonight.”

“Okay, thanks,” Greg replied, before withdrawing and leaving the couple alone.

Though he also ‘pulled’ his hearing back and turned his ‘team sense’ off, he still heard Sophie’s, “Can we go somewhere and talk?” before he got out of earshot.

* * * * *

The house, nestled in a nice, high class neighborhood, fit right in. Stone decorated the outside walls, with black paneling around doors and windows. A luxury black Hummer sat in the driveway, gleaming as if freshly washed. The entire house held a subtle, but elegant flavor, and, though the Hummer was a bit ostentatious, it was nothing out of the ordinary for the neighborhood it resided in.

Inside, several men stood inside a room with an stylish, expensive pool table. The walls were beautifully stained dark wood paneling, setting off the slightly lighter shade of the pool table. Two were clearly employees, standing off to the side, observing their boss and his client. One was in a white shirt with a loosened tie, hinting at professional, but not quite crossing into that category. His coworker wore an all-black ensemble, his skin tone the only area where the black theme deviated. They wisely stayed out of the discussion going on in front of them, merely keeping watch.

A meter or so away from them, their boss held court with a pool cue in one hand and a drink in the other. “So what are you thinking?” he inquired of the last man.

The last man surveyed the pool table, a drink on the table’s edge right next to him. “I’m thinking you got them set up pretty good,” he replied as his host sipped his drink and set it down.

Before the discussion could go further, another man entered. Though he wore a white, button up shirt, he had no tie and wore a plain set of blue jeans. He was sniffing loudly as he entered and his attitude, even before he spoke, was belligerent, cocky.

“What were you doing in there?” the boss asked sharply. He wore a business suit, with a dark blue pinstriped shirt visible underneath the jacket. Gray-blue eyes were hard; he had the look of a man who had fought his way to the top of his career. Neatly combed black hair was starting to go gray around the edges, but the clean-shaven man was still very much in his prime. One brow quirked at his employee, daring the idiot to give him lip.

The employee glanced back at the room he’d just left, then offered his boss a slight grin. “Taking a leak.” The customer looked from the employee to his boss, who stood unmoved, clearly unhappy. “You want details?” the mouthy employee asked; his coworker wisely stepped in.

“Another drink?” the other white-shirted employee asked the customer.

The customer looked down at his drink a moment, then replied, “No, I’m good. Thanks.” He was tall, lean, with a serious mien and light gray eyes. Thick brown eyebrows accented his seriousness and his hair was cut short, giving him a slightly rakish air. His face was just as lean as his frame, the profile of his nose and chin sharp enough to cut and only a trace of stubble visible in the room’s light. Despite the fact that it was winter, he had a light black jacket, nothing heavier. Though he appeared relaxed in his environs, he kept his eyes on all four other men, not truly dropping his guard for a second.

At his polite refusal of another drink, the boss questioned, “You sure? I got a sixteen-year-old scotch over there. It’s like poetry in a bottle.”

The customer smirked, lifting his drink to point one finger at the business man. “You’re trying to put me off my game.” He looked back at the pool table. “Let’s…let’s talk business.”

The boss passed his pool cue over to his black-jacketed employee. “All right. So what do you like?” With that, both men surveyed the impressive display of weaponry atop the pool table. Shotguns, pistols and rifles of all sizes and descriptions were laid out, each gleaming and awaiting _just_ the right buyer.

* * * * *

Sophie and Ed had found a quiet place to talk; the briefing room, currently empty except for them. “I really need you,” Sophie told her husband. “I’m not even supposed to be out of bed right now. And it’s not going to get easier. It’s just going to get harder.”

“So, Clark’s around,” Ed pointed out.

“Clark’s fifteen,” Sophie countered, though she felt a little guilty. Lance and Alanna were even younger than Clark and they’d found no end of small ways to help her out on the days they stayed at the Lane household.

“Look, we’ve done this before, and we will figure it out,” Ed reassured her.

“Your job’s different now, okay,” Sophie retorted. “I’m supposed to rest. I need help.”

“And I’m going to help.”

Her frustration slipped out. “With what, two-hour workouts a day? Night shifts? Overtime shifts?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Ed asked calmly. “Just…just tell me, and I will do it, okay?”

She didn’t believe him…look at how he ran off, putting his job above her and Clark. “My mother’s expecting me in the morning,” she informed him. “I’ve already packed my bags.”

Sophie saw the hurt on his face, quickly buried in his eyes. Silence hung between them, a widening gap. “Your bags are packed?”

All the reasons she’d told herself as she packed came back, forcefully. “It’ll be easier for both of us. I just…I want to get through this pregnancy and…and do some thinking.”

He wasn’t happy, she could tell, but he didn’t react the way she wanted him to. Didn’t put up an argument, didn’t put up a fight…wasn’t she worth a fight to keep her? “Okay. Okay, if it’s better…if it’s better for you and the baby. It’s just for a while?” He waited for her slight nod. “Give me more time with Clark anyway.”

For an instant, she cringed inside, but her resentment, carefully fed for weeks, kept her from regretting her next words. “Ed, Clark’s coming with me.”

His head snapped back around, the hurt and confusion on his face so clear that, for a moment, she wondered what on earth she was doing. Silence hung again; she could almost see the barrier going up between them.

* * * * *

The customer lifted one of the revolvers, flipping the barrel out and spinning it to see that it turned smoothly, with no hesitation in its movement. Then he flipped it back and set the weapon back down. As he continued to inspect the weapons, the boss and his three employees observed.

“Tell me who your buyers are again,” the boss requested.

Not even looking up, the customer retorted, “I didn’t tell you in the first place.”

The boss passed his drink off to his black-jacketed employee. “Kind of like to know who I’m dealing with.”

“Yeah, my guys like to keep a low profile.” The customer moved back to the head of the pool table, pulling a black shoulder bag off his shoulder and putting it down in front of the boss. “A hundred grand,” he told the boss, opening up the bag so the boss and his employees could see the stacks of cash inside. To make the point even clearer, he pulled several stacks out and then dropped them back in the bag.

The mouthy employee couldn’t keep his opinion to himself. “Sweet,” he remarked, openly admiring the large amount of money.

“Deposit’s only ten,” the boss observed.

The customer smirked a little. “Consider the rest a finder’s fee.”

“Generous.”

“I was hoping it might, uh, move things along,” the customer admitted, looking back at the table.

“Definitely expedite things,” the boss replied.

The customer lifted another weapon, examining what looked like a cross between an automatic and a regular, standard sized pistol. “When can I see the rest?” he asked.

“How’s tonight sound?” the boss offered.

“Tonight?”

“Everything goes tonight,” was the reply. “You’re at the front of the line now.”

With a small chuckle, the customer nodded. “Tonight’s good. Just need to make a couple of calls.” He tapped the weapon in his hands. “What can you tell me about this?”

“Fully automatic, fully concealable. That baby’s a game changer,” the boss informed his now very valued customer.

The mouthy employee, eager to show off, took the weapon from the customer, slipping his hand around the grip and disengaging the safety. “Wait’ll they hit the streets,” he bragged. “Nine millimeter. Very sensitive. Single or multi shots. Twelve…” The gun in his hand bucked as it fired, spraying the nearby couch with bullets. Every other man in the room ducked for cover as the hapless employee stopped firing, staring at his handiwork. “Whoa! Dang. Thing kind of fires itself, you know?”

“Give it to me,” his boss ordered sharply. As the gun was offered, the boss added, “Safety on.”

“Sorry, Nick,” the man mumbled as he pulled the weapon back, re-engaged the safety and offered it up again.

Nick snatched the gun from his employee, turning to the other two and snapping, “Crank the stereo. Anybody comes knocking, we’re testing out the surround sound, all right? Let’s pack and move. Pack it up. Let’s go.”

Still oblivious to his boss’s displeasure, the mouthy employee replied, “Yes, sir,” and moved to start packing the guns on the pool table. He looked up into the barrel of the weapon he’d just fired as his coworker turned the stereo on. Loud, hard rock music spilled into the room as he backed away from his boss, pleading, “Nick.”

“Strike three,” Nick replied as he fired two bursts, dropping his employee instantly. His customer reeled in shock, his other employees cringed, but he paid no further attention to the body on the couch. “Let’s go!” he yelled, lifting his voice to be heard over the music. “Pack it up and move! Get the boxes! Let’s go! Get it out of here! Come on! Pack it all up!” He spared a gesture at the body as he added, “Get him out of here! Let’s go! Go!”

The two employees fairly flew, snatching up guns, shoving them in boxes and generally striving to avoid becoming their boss’s next target. As the guns vanished, the customer, unobserved, slipped a white handled pistol into his belt and scooped up his black bag of money. Then he started helping pack the guns.


	2. Machine Guns in Rosedale

In the equipment cage, Greg took the opportunity to ask his friend, “How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine,” Ed assured his boss as the two officers moved out of the equipment cage towards their lockers.

“Just fine?” Greg pushed gently. He didn’t need his ‘team sense’ to know that Eddie was hiding something.

With a wide open shrug and spread hands, Ed told him, “Ah, she’s going to stay with her mother for a while.”

Greg suppressed an eyebrow arch to ask, “For how long?” as he opened his locker

“I don’t know.” Ed admitted, looking towards his boss and away again. Greg was just as uneasy. The last thing he wanted was for any member of his team to go through what he had with _his_ family.

“You’re okay with that, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s what she wants.” Underneath the breezy tone, though, was a sense of Ed wondering what Sophie wanted him to do and how he could fix what he hadn’t even known was breaking.

The alarm went off with its usual whoop, followed by Winnie’s, “Team One, suit up. Hot call.”

“Let’s go,” Ed remarked, dropping the subject of his family; Greg, though, he knew he’d have to keep an eye on his team leader tonight…watch his six even more than usual.

* * * * *

The four trucks screamed through the streets and highways, clearing traffic effortlessly as motorists scrambled to the side and out of the way. Greg, driving the lead truck, asked, “Winnie, what do we know?”

“Shots fired. 172 Beechmont. A neighbor called it in. She said she was reading her daughter a bedtime story when she heard gunfire.”

Greg traded raised brows with Jules, then questioned, “How many shots fired?”

“She couldn’t tell,” Winnie reported, “Said it sounded like firecrackers going off.”

“Machine guns,” Parker observed.

“And then really loud music,” Winnie finished.

“Thanks, Winnie.” Not good…quiet neighborhood, late at night, lots of firepower…

“Machine guns in Rosedale,” Jules summed up, a note of disbelief in her voice.

Sam, driving the second truck, opined, “Anyone who’s got that kind of gear, I say we get in his face.”

Ed followed up. “We got to let him know that he’s overpowered before he can take this thing any further.”

“In your face is good with me,” Greg remarked. Some days, skipping the negotiating and going back to being straight SWAT was really the only way to go.

* * * * *

The four SRU vehicles pulled into the elegant, expensive house’s driveway, wailing their way up to the house before parking and discharging their passengers. Team One slid out of their vehicles, moving quickly, but carefully. Better to keep calm and do their jobs than to scramble around in a panic. Weapons were already out and ready as Ed called, “Guys, let’s check these perimeters.” As Wordy and Jules headed in one direction, the team leader turned to his other two teammates, “Sam, Lou?”

“Okay,” Sam agreed.

“On our way,” Lou added as the pair headed for the opposite side of the house, scanning for anything out of place.

Ed stayed with his boss as Parker pulled out a small bullhorn, aimed it at the house, and yelled, “This is Sergeant Parker with the Police Strategic Response Unit. We need to know if there are any injured parties in there.”

* * * * *

Nick led the way up and out of the basement area, his stride calm, his face expressionless. He showed no sign of having just shot and killed one of his employees, just annoyance at the delay. Not even the roar of the hard rock music phased him. His customer followed, his two remaining employees trailing in the rear, but Nick halted at the sight of blue and red lights outside his front door. Hastily, he ducked back, behind a wall right beside the staircase.

* * * * *

Jules, in a crouch, but moving fast, let her eyes narrow. “Movement, green wall,” she reported.

* * * * *

Nick turned as his employees finished coming up the stairs and strode away from the front door, ordering, “Mike, take the back! Eric, garage! Go!”

Mike raced for the living room, his black jacket an aid for blending in and avoiding the notice of any cops snooping around, while Eric darted back downstairs, the gun in his hands out of place next to his crisp white shirt and tie.

As they moved, Nick waved his customer to another room, before bringing his automatic weapon up and sneaking back towards the door to get a better look at the cops outside. As he registered the number of vehicles outside, he let out a frustrated cry and spun away.

* * * * *

Wordy checked a window for a lower level, then snuck past to put his back to the stone wall. He moved sideways, reaching a window just as the man inside closed the blinds. He pulled back, out of sight, and reported, “Motion here, black wall.”

Jules, who’d reached the stone wall overlooking the house’s garage/driveway area, concluded, “All right, minimum two occupants. Anything else to go on?”

By the trucks, Parker put the small bullhorn down and observed, rather sardonically, “Well, just that they and their possible victims are probably hard of hearing right now. We go in there, headsets are useless.” Unspoken was the fact that _his_ hearing was even more useless inside; he’d already pulled it ‘back’ as far as he could in an effort to keep himself from being incapacitated by the blaring sound.

As Parker spoke, Sam and Lou hit another corner of the house, peering around a two column, angled support to look at the house’s sprawling backyard. As their teammates conversed, they held position, watching for any exits from the house.

“Spike, who owns this house?” the Sergeant asked.

In the Command Truck, Spike’s fingers were flying already, dancing across the keyboard as none of his teammates, save perhaps Lou, could. “Not a who but a what,” he replied. “67034 Holdings to be precise.”

The Sergeant’s voice raised incredulously as he queried, a bit rhetorically, “A numbered company owns a house in this neighborhood? Automatic gunfire?”

“Organized crime?” Spike offered up.

“A long way from the strip club,” Ed observed grimly.

“Spike, keep digging,” Parker ordered.

Already focused on his next step, Spike murmured, “Basically my plan.”

“Boss, we got to get in there now,” Ed opined, his eyes hard.

Parker didn’t argue. “Team, let’s regroup. We’re going in the front.” Turning, he addressed a young constable standing beside a tree, “Officer.”

“Yeah,” the constable inquired, lowering his weapon.

As the Sergeant shrugged out of his winter jacket, he instructed, “Get your guys to lock down a perimeter, notify all the neighbors to stay away from their windows.”

“Copy, sir,” the constable acknowledged, before hurrying away.

* * * * *

Done checking the living room windows, Nick stalked back out to the staircase area, grabbing hold of the banister to get a quick look downstairs. As he straightened back up, his customer appeared from the other room, grabbing his arm and yelling, “Nick! They’re surrounding the place!”

Nick didn’t pause. As the hard rock continued to blare, he waved for his customer to follow as he yelled back, “We’re gonna need more ammo! Let’s go! Mike, get the blinds!” and nearly flew back down the stairs, already plotting his way out. “There’s only one way out, fast!” He turned to Eric, demanding, “You said the garage is soft.”

“Only one man out back so far!” Eric reported.

“Go back! Wait for us!” Nick ordered. His employee scampered.

Behind them, the door gave as a ram flew through it, admitting a flood of SRU cops. Nick and his customer ducked for a small room, leaving the two employees to fend for themselves.

“Police! Police! Right there! Police! SRU! Police!” Ed roared, letting his own loud tones carry so his teammates could focus on the house’s occupants.

Nick was the first into the small room and whirled, ordering, “Lock it!”

His customer shot the lock home as another yell of, “Police!” came from the hallway.

Outside, Eric bolted down another flight of stairs, keeping his gun locked and loaded as he watched for any sign of pursuit.

Sam and Jules headed up the stairs, checking the upper floor. Greg and Ed stayed on the floor they’d entered, while Wordy and Lou hurried down the nearby steps to check the lowest level.

Inside the room, the customer considered his options as his associate yelled, “Take heat. Cover the door!” and slapped a gun in his hand as soon as he turned.

Instead the customer stared at Nick as the latter flew to the room’s fireplace and started to pull things out of it. “What are you doing?” Nick kept working, moving as fast as he could. “No, no, no, no, come on!” the customer yelled, “Forget the ammo, man! Let’s go!”

A padded black box appeared and Nick hurried to put it on the room’s recliner and get it open. “I got a way out!”

“Let’s get out of here!”

“Hang on a minute!” Nick bellowed right back.

Outside the locked door, Greg looped a black cord around the door’s handle as Ed covered him; once complete, the door could not be opened until Team One was ready.

Inside, Nick sorted through the guns in the case, pulling one up to yank a second gun out; the second gun was passed over to the customer. The customer checked his weapon with swift precision, yanking the magazine out and replacing it with a full one while Nick transferred several of the weapons to another case.

Jules moved through the hallway, checking each room. As she came out of one room, she spotted movement and ducked away as the subject opened fire, ending up in another doorway. Several picture frames and a lamp fell victim to the shooter, but Jules was untouched.

Wordy and Lou hit the bottom of the stairs, weapons up and ready. Each man took one side of the open doorway, checking for any surprises or subjects. Lou covered while Wordy spun around the doorway, spotting another subject immediately. The subject had his back to them, his entire focus outside another doorway. Lou moved ahead of Wordy, though he stayed to his teammate’s left; the pair bracketed the next doorway, double-checking to make sure their target hadn’t cottoned onto their location. At a quick hand-signal from Wordy, Lou moved into the room and behind the subject, aiming his weapon at the back of the subject’s neck. The barrel made contact; the subject froze and panicked as he realized the cops were behind him.

“Don’t move!” Wordy ordered from the side.

“Drop your weapon right now!” Lou followed up, “Drop it on the ground!” As the frightened subject complied, Lou continued, “Hands on your head! Up against the wall!” As soon as the man had shifted up against the wall, Lou lowered his sidearm and shoved the man, keeping him in place as he cuffed their catch. Wordy turned, keeping his own weapon up and ready in case any subjects tried to ambush them mid-arrest.

Upstairs, the black-jacketed subject peeked around the corner, trying to get a bead on Jules. Sam tossed a flash bang from another room; as it went off, the pair moved, Sam reaching their subject first and executing a takedown maneuver that left the reeling man on the floor in a daze.

They cuffed him and headed back downstairs, reaching Sarge and Ed as Sarge finished looping his black cord around the handle of the room their last two subjects were hiding in. Sarge pulled it tight, keeping the door secure until the team was reassembled. Even as Jules and Sam took their positions, Wordy and Lou arrived from the lower floor, scrambling up the steps and taking up their own positions.

Wordy stopped at the wall on the locked door’s right side and pulled his backpack off, kneeling down to unload the snake cam and its screen.

Inside the room, Nick quickly reloaded and checked his weapon. His customer, already armed and ready, looked very unhappy with the turn of events. He stood with his back to the door, left hand up and rubbing at the back of his head as he tried to think his way out of his current mess. He knew, better than most, what SRU could do.

Outside, Wordy laid flat on the ground as he fed the snake cam under the locked door, getting eyes into the room. His teammates stood ready, Sarge still holding the door shut.

Inside, Nick closed the blinds on the room’s one window, prepping for any possible complications. “Come on!” his customer screamed at him.

Wordy, still prone, shifted to check the snake cam’s screen, only to see…nothing. The screen stayed stubbornly black. “Nothing,” he hissed, barely audible above the music.

His boss, despite having turned his hearing ‘down’ as far as he could, still heard Wordy’s hiss. He waved at Sam, who quickly moved over to take his boss’s place, holding the door shut. Parker yanked out his phone, his fingers flying over the screen’s keyboard; after the team had gotten their magical phones, Spike had taken the time to make sure his teammates could all text with the best of them.

In the truck, Spike’s attention was drawn by the text message that appeared on the screen, his computer hooked into his phone, as always. PICTURE?

The bomb tech’s attention moved to another window, the image of two men in a small, nicely furnished room coming through from the snake cam. One man paced and his back was to the cam; the other was bent over what looked like a gun case, rummaging for something.

Inside the house with hard rock music blaring and starting to give a certain Sergeant a headache, Spike’s return message appeared: GOT IT. Almost immediately thereafter, an image appeared on Parker’s screen: two men, one with his back to the camera, the other by the window. Parker lifted his phone so Ed could see it; Ed signaled the number of occupants to the rest of the team and outlined the entry strategy as Wordy prepped the ram.

In the truck, Spike watched the men in the room, his eyes narrowing at their weapons; then the man closest to the door turned and faced it, giving the snake cam a perfect shot of his face. Spike’s eyes widened in horror, his keyboard clicked at near lightspeed as he zoomed in on the second man.

“Hold fire! Hold fire!” he yelled as loud as he could over the comm.

The rock music seemed to roar even louder, rendering even Parker's sensitive hearing useless; the Sergeant's prediction coming very, very true. Spike saw the first man, by the window, hefting _two_ weapons, both automatic, but that wasn't his concern, not now.

“Ed, it’s your brother!”

On both sides of the door, the preparations were complete. Ed’s brother stared at Nick’s guns, his eyes wide with fear for himself and his brother. With no choice, he turned towards the door, tightening his grip on his weapon and panting as he braced himself. On the other side, Ed was ready, willing, and able to go; his eyes calm, his job clear as he judged his team and made to start the countdown.

“Ed, it’s your brother!”


	3. Ed, It's Your Brother

“Hold fire! Ed, it’s your brother!” Spike yelled the words as loud as he dared, watching Ed’s brother and the other man brace for the firefight about to erupt. No response. He almost dove for his magical phone, then redirected to the radio right next to him. As the second man spotted the snake cam and moved in to stomp on it, thus cutting off Spike’s view, Spike ordered, “Constable, cut the power. I need it cut now. Go! Go!”

Inside the house, Ed did one last visual check and then brought his left hand up to do the countdown. Three. Two. Go. Wordy hefted the ram, bringing it around in the swing that would hit the door dead on and force it open.

The lights and music cut out; Wordy jerked back in surprise and Team One stopped long enough for Spike’s sharp, “Hold fire! Hold fire!” to come over the comm.

In the sudden silence, Ed backed up Spike with a quiet, “Hold. Hold. Hold.”

“Get down,” Nick hissed inside the small, now very dark room; both men ducked behind the furniture for cover, surprised by the sudden loss of lights and power. The other man, in the darkness, let his head sag a little in relief. They must have spotted him. After a beat, the lights came back on, lighting the house, but, thankfully, the music stayed dead. The two men in the room looked at each other, Nick shaking his head in confusion.

“Spike, what’s going on?” Ed questioned, puzzled by the bomb tech’s actions.

Over the comm, Spike sounded grim as he got his breath back. “Check your phones.”

Ed reached into his equipment vest pocket, jerking the phone out and thumbing it on. The captured image staring back at him was very, very familiar. His alarm was instant and just as instantly picked up on by his boss; as Ed stalked towards a fancy pool table right near them, Greg followed him, both brows up at the emotions pouring off the team leader.

The team leader held his phone so his boss could see and he nodded once at Greg’s breathed, “Roy.” Greg’s attention shifted to his team leader and he turned to face Ed head on, asking, “Is your brother working some case undercover?”

“Roy’s not undercover,” Ed hissed, his rising anger rather puzzling to Greg.

Still holding position, Sam kept his voice down as he pointed out, “He’s Guns ‘n’ Gangs. They have a unit.”

Ed’s voice rose a bit. “Sam, he’s not on active duty right now.”

“You sure about that?” Greg questioned, cocking his head and keeping his own voice low.

“Boss, he was suspended two months ago.”

“What for?” Sam inquired, but Greg closed his eyes, remembering.

* * * * *

_At a small, cheap motel, two officers bracketed a door; one pounded on the door announcing himself. The man inside the room fired through the door, hitting the officer, center mass. As the man fell, his partner, staring in horror, yelled, “Officer down!”_

“You were there, Sam. The Sunrise Motel.”

_“Officer down!”_

“He disobeyed a direct order to stand down and wait for the SRU.”

_The injured officer was hefted by two ambulance workers onto a stretcher as Ed watched, his face closed and grim. The two hurried to get the stretcher loaded into the ambulance, racing against the clock to save the downed man. As the ambulance pulled away, Ed turned to the survivor and shoved him up against the side of the Command Truck, fury brimming in his eyes._

_“We’re supposed to just wait around…” the survivor began, belligerence reeking in his voice, burying his fear for his partner._

_“You got something to say here, Roy?” Ed demanded, cutting his brother off._

_“We didn’t hear any orders,” Roy protested._

_Ed ignored that, they_ both _knew it was a lie. “You had orders to wait,” Ed ground out, shaking a finger in his brother’s face._

_“We didn’t hear it,” Roy objected again, but defeat was entering his face and posture._

_Ed was too angry to back off. “This didn’t have to happen.” Roy looked away, pain running across his face. “Huh? Has he got kids?” Ed questioned harshly. “Has he got kids, Roy?”_

* * * * *

“He cost his partner his life. Reckless endangerment.”

Greg restrained his first response, which was that it took _two_ to disobey a direct order to stand down. Roy had survived, thus, he took the blame for both of them. “You reported Roy?”

“Yeah, I did,” Ed shot back, his anger still rising. “What was I supposed to do? Lie? Look the other way?” Lane paused, letting Greg consider him for a beat. Calmer, he continued, “We had a sit-down-- I told him, ‘I will be there for you, but you have got to make it right.’ And he looked me right in the eye-- right in the eye-- and promised me that he would.”

There, _there_. That was what had Ed so angry…and so hurt. Roy had promised and now it looked very much like he’d broken his promise, turned his back on _everything_ he was supposed to believe in. Greg tuned out Ed’s stream of indignation, anger, and hurt…his gut was pinging, telling him there was more to this than met the eye. Far more.

“If he’s not on duty, what’s he doing in there?” Sam questioned.

“I don’t know, Sam. I guess he’s making new friends,” Ed replied, sarcastic even as he kept his voice down.

“Ed, he’s a Lane,” Greg countered.

“And that’s the only thing we have in common,” Ed retorted.

“He’s a cop,” Greg hissed, trying to get past Ed’s first instinctive reaction.

“Who’s been looking for an easy way out his whole life,” Ed said flatly, the hurt overriding Greg’s attempt to get him to see sense and start _thinking_ again.

Greg gave up on trying to convince Ed to look at the situation objectively…he’d just have to do it for both of them. “Spike, put a call out to Roy’s sarge in the 12 Division. Maybe he can tell us what’s going on.”

“Got it,” Spike acknowledged.

Greg’s attention swung back to Ed and he attempted to pin his team leader with his gaze. “In the meantime, Roy’s a cop whose cover we cannot blow. As far as his associate in there is concerned, he’s a stranger to us.” Ed nodded, looking relieved under the anger and hurt.

Sam shifted to look over his shoulder at his boss and team leader. “We need a new tac plan.”

From the opposite side of the door, Wordy opined, “We should go less lethal.”

Ed’s brain finally ground into gear again. “Wordy, you did recon. Are there any windows into that room?”

“Yeah. A couple small ones,” Wordy replied.

“I’m on it,” Sam offered.

With a quick nod, Ed shifted back to let Sam pass. “All right.”

As Sam hurried off, Team One reformed, positioning themselves for anything _else_ that might go south on them.

* * * * *

Roy stared at the door, still tense. This was _not_ how he’d wanted tonight to go and he had yet to figure out a way to get out of this mess with his skin intact. Nick, leaning back against the wall, added to Roy’s stress with his muttered, “They’ve been watching us. We’re gonna have to kick it up a bit. They got a perimeter by now.”

Roy’s alarm kicked up another notch. Though he kept his weapon pointed at the door, he looked over and, with a quick shake of his head, retorted, “There’s no way out.”

“There’s always a way out,” Nick drawled, glancing around.

“What are you going to do?” Roy asked, dread lurking just under the surface.

“Didn’t get to where I am by giving up, man,” Nick pointed out, giving the door a glare.

Roy shoved his fear back down. “We are not going to outshoot SRU.” Especially not his brother’s team…some of Team One’s calls had hit legend status amongst the Toronto officers. In particular, the Eco-terror bombings when Lewis Young had survived stepping on a _land mine_.

“If we plan it right, we do,” Nick countered, a smug smirk on his face.

All Roy could do was shake his head, breathing hard as fear rose again.

* * * * *

From the Command Truck, Spike informed his boss, “I got a hold of Sergeant Gamboli, Roy’s C.O. He’s calling you right now.”

Parker pulled his buzzing phone out and shifted back to the room with the pool table. “Sergeant Gamboli?” he greeted quietly. “Hey, thanks for calling.” With a sigh and a hard glint in his eyes, he requested, “Tell me Roy Lane is working undercover.” The other man’s response did not please him. He turned to look at Ed, murmuring, “Uh-huh,” as Roy’s C.O. brought him up to speed on Roy’s activities of late.

Outside, Sam moved around the column right by the room the subjects were hiding in. Grimly, he announced, “Frosted windows-- no visual. I’m going to have to cut through.” Staying as quiet as he could, the sniper approached the window.

* * * * *

Nick and Roy bent over a rough sketch of the lower floor of Nick’s stately home. Their hideout, the hallway outside, the stairs going up and down, and two other rooms were marked out on the yellow pad of paper. Nick gestured with his pen as he spoke, “Through this door, there’s a hallway. On the right, you got the laundry and the bedroom. On the left, you got the staircase going upstairs to the main hall. Now, you got to cover me, all right?”

Roy nodded at his associate. “Right.”

Nick’s hands spread, a grimace showing. “Between the dining room and the kitchen, I’m all exposed.”

Outside, Sam had reached the windows and he knelt to retrieve the cutter. Then he placed it on the window.

“On this side,” Nick continued, “There’s a stand of trees. It’s a perfect spot for a sniper to hide. You take the sniper out first, then you lay cover fire this way. Got it? I’ll lay cover from here, then we’re in the car, and we’re gone. All right?”

To Roy, it sounded more like a death sentence than a plan. Still, his best shot was to go along with Nick…at least for now. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Nick replied, a smug smirk spreading on his face. As Roy shifted to grab his gun, Nick slapped him on the arm. “Hey. Relax. Remember what you’re carrying there. It’s a spray-and-pray. It’ll mow them down.”

Roy looked away as Nick retrieved his weapon. He _needed_ a way out, _needed_ to get out of this mess without ending up dead…or worse…killing his own brother. Nick chambered a round on his automatic, giving a sarcastic, “Let’s suit up.” Roy smiled, but, as he looked down at his gun, he wondered, briefly, why’d he ever thought this was a good idea.


	4. You Follow?

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he pulled the cutter back off the window. “We’ve got a problem,” he reported.

“Sam, what do you got?” Ed demanded; he sounded normal again, despite his brother’s presence.

“Shatterproof glass-- can’t cut through it.”

“All right,” Ed acknowledged. “This guy’s prepared. Get back here. Let’s find another way in.”

“Copy that,” Sam replied, already on the move.

“Thanks,” Greg told Roy’s C.O., though he felt nothing of the sort. As he hung up, he hissed, “Eddie.”

Ed lowered his weapon, backing towards his boss, and ordering, “Any aggression, containment fire only.” Order given, he turned towards Parker, silently demanding answers.

They weren’t the answers Greg wanted to give, not by a long shot. He drew himself up, steeling himself before telling Ed, “Sergeant Gamboli, 12th Division, confirms it. Roy isn’t active.”

“And…?” Ed had always had a talent for sniffing out what Greg would prefer not to tell.

With a sigh, the Sergeant told him, “Turns out he went down to the station today to get something out of his locker. After he left, C$100,000 was missing from evidence lockup.”

Ed shook his head, hurt and anger surging back. “Are they sure he took it?”

Even now, Greg’s gut was screaming that there was more to this whole situation than they knew, but facts were facts. “Yeah, Eddie,” he confirmed. As Ed paced, one step to the side and back, Greg went on. “Gamboli said, since he lost his partner, he’s been showing up to the station emotionally volatile, and he’s been self-medicating with alcohol.”

“He’s always been trouble,” Ed remarked, not even looking at his boss now. Shame had joined anger and hurt.

“Hey, Eddie,” Greg countered gently, his own history rearing up, “We’ve all known a little trouble.”

Ed’s head turned toward his boss. “You ever get your partner killed?” he demanded.

“No,” Greg retorted, the unexpected question putting his own hackles up.

“Or steal 100 grand out of evidence to start a new career in weapons trafficking?” Ed continued, his outrage growing rapidly.

Greg cut him off. “That is what we in the business call jumping to conclusions. Now, I don’t care how he supplements his income. We just want everyone in this house to come out upright. Now,” he paused until Ed looked at him, “do we need a more objective team leader for this call?”

“No, sir. I am good.”

Parker wasn’t sure he bought that, not at all. His ‘team sense’ still thrummed with Eddie’s mixed emotions and he knew how having someone you loved on the line changed your reactions to a situation. “You sure?”

“I’m good,” Ed insisted.

With the clock running, Parker let it go at that. “Spike…Spike, we’re going to talk. What’s the word?”

Spike, naturally, had not been idle. “Subject one’s Nick Watson,” he reported. “He’s suspected of controlling a third of the arms traffic coming into the city.”

“Big fish,” Greg observed, his gut tensing all over again.

“And slippery,” Spike added. “Nobody’s been able to pin him down personally. But I got something. Our CI says he’s the one that supplied the weapons that were seized at the Sunrise Motel.”

_Bingo._ Parker’s brown orbs flicked up to Lane’s blue ones as realization dawned. “That’s the shotgun that got Roy’s partner killed,” Lane breathed.

“It came from Nick Watson,” Parker finished.

With a nod and a gesture back towards the rest of the team, Ed concluded, “Okay. Let’s go.”

As the two men took up positions again, Jules mused, “So this is either business or personal for Roy.”

Sam, back from his outdoor excursion, loaded grenades into their rotary grenade launcher as he spoke. “He goes undercover solo just to get payback up close?”

Lou, just behind the sniper, and Wordy, to Ed’s right, looked like they agreed, but they stayed quiet, just readying themselves for the confrontation.

“We’ll sort it all out when everyone’s safe,” Greg murmured from his spot at the door’s left. “Roy knows the drill. We maintain his cover, he surrenders as a subject, we sort it all out back at the station. Copy?”

Sam closed the launcher and straightened, already holding the launcher at the ready; Lou shifted to his left to get a better angle, prompting a slight shift in the back ‘row’ of SRU officers. “Copy,” Sam confirmed, his gaze focused.

Anger touched the edge of Ed’s voice as he ordered, “Sam, any trouble, you gas them out.”

Parker swung his head around, concerned all over again; Jules looked over at the angry team leader. “Ed?” she questioned.

“I’m good. Let’s focus.”

There was no time for doubts or second-guessing, so the Sergeant shifted his gaze back to the door and drew a breath.

* * * * *

Roy shouldered his black bag as Watson scooped up both of his automatic weapons. The two men were close enough to touch as Watson said, “All right. One last time.”

Crisp, cool, with no trace of his inner alarm, Roy replied, “Cover fire, stairway to the kitchen, cover first door, cover second door, left to the deck.”

Watson considered him a beat, then gave a tiny smirk. “Let’s go.”

A voice came from the opposite side of the door, a voice Roy recognized at once. “Nick Watson. This is Sergeant Parker with the Police Strategic Response Unit. We understand you have some serious firepower on your side of the door, and so do we. So, what do you say we don’t waste all this good ammunition on each other, and talk instead?”

As Parker spoke, Roy adjusted his bag and grabbed the gun Watson had given him. Watson moved closer to the door, his entire stance arrogant and unyielding. Roy could already guess his ‘partner’s’ plan…use Parker’s tendency to talk as an opening to attack. The cop set his jaw, glaring at Watson’s back.

“Okay,” Watson called.

“Okay,” Parker agreed. “I’m going to open the door slowly so we can talk face-to-face, all right?”

“Okay. You open it slowly,” Watson confirmed; he looked back at Roy in silent order. Roy brought his gun up as Watson added, “I’m going to unlock the door now.”

Roy watched closely as Watson got up close to the door and set one gun down to reach out and unlock the door. Parker would, as promised, open the door slowly, giving Roy one chance, one opening to keep this from turning into a bloodbath. He moved.

As Parker pushed down on the handle, the door was yanked open from the other side. Roy appeared in the doorway, Watson in his grip and unarmed; Roy’s weapon was aimed right at Watson’s head and he yelled, “Back off! Back off!” As Team One reacted, moving back into new positions, Roy continued to shout. “All of you! Right now! Do it now, or I will blow his head off!”

* * * * *

Greg pulled his sidearm as he moved, keeping his eyes on Roy and dialing his vision and hearing up as much as he dared. The undercurrents of this situation were already complex and he suspected they were about to get even more complicated.

“Back off, all of you! Right now!” Roy ordered, his face set, the look of man going through with his plan, come what may.

In his grip, Watson cried, “Hank…”

“Shut up!” Roy shouted.

“Hank, what the heck are you…”

“Shut up!”

“What are you doing?”

Roy turned on his hostage, screaming, “Shut up, or I will take you out right now!” He turned back to Team One. “Stand back.”

“Hank!” Watson clearly had never learned to keep his mouth shut.

“I am walking out of here, and he’s coming with me,” Roy gritted out.

“Hank…” Watson pleaded softly.

Greg stepped in, determined to keep things from going any more sideways. “Hank? It’s Hank, right? You’re throwing us a curveball here, buddy. We don’t want to do anything that we hadn’t thought through.” He sensed Sam and Lou shifting positions, getting to higher ground, just in case. “You’re making a choice you’re going to regret.” Roy yanked Watson sideways, keeping the man between himself and Team One. “Maybe you think you don’t have the choices, but we got all night to talk about those choices.”

Roy’s face turned intent, his grip on Watson tightening, not slacking. “You know what? There is _somewhere_ I _need_ to be, and I don’t have all night. You _get_ me? Get out of the way!”

Ed stepped in, his temper rising. “We can’t let you do that.”

Roy’s eyes darted between his brother and his brother’s boss. “Yeah, you can,” he countered. “You have to keep my hostage alive, so either you shoot me and save this guy’s life or you let me go. You _follow_?”

“This is short-term thinking,” Ed pointed out, firm and unyielding. “Now, what my boss just said to you is the best advice you’re going to get today.”

Parker kept his eyes from narrowing, not betraying any of his thoughts as Roy snapped, “I’m walking.”

Above, on the landing, Sam and Lou refocused their weapons, ready to move at a second’s notice. “Okay,” Ed breathed. “Now, I’m pretty sure this isn’t how you wanted today to play out. You can make this right, okay? You can make it right. Just put the gun down now. Do you understand me?” Ed’s voice rose on the last few sentences, a big brother pulling rank on his younger brother.

Roy leaned forward, sibling rivalry playing out even as he kept his cover. “You know what? I don’t need your attitude, _Officer_. You _follow_?” Roy’s eyes darted to Parker briefly; Greg’s own eyes shifted between Roy and Ed, suspicion rising. “I know what I’m _doing_ and you need to get out of my way,” Roy tensed, then pointed his gun at Ed, “ _now_.”

Ed stiffened, aiming his submachine gun right back. “No.”

“Let’s stay calm,” Greg counseled, then he spotted Sam aiming his own sidearm, prepared to fire. “Hold fire!”

“Boss?” Sam gritted out.

Parker kept his eyes on Roy as he replied, “You heard right. Hold fire.” If he was wrong… After a beat, Ed stood down, breaking off the contest with his brother. “Officer Scarlatti,” Greg called, a careful emphasis on Spike’s name and rank.

He could almost see Spike straightening in confusion, that confusion coming through in his puzzled, “Sir?”

“Instruct all units to stand down,” Parker ordered, his eyes intent.

Ever so slightly, Roy’s mouth moved in a silent, “Thanks.”

Parker gave his fellow _cop_ a brief nod. “The subject will be exiting the house with a hostage and we are not to follow. You copy that, Officer Scarlatti? We are not to follow.”

Spike’s confusion evaporated. “I’m hearing you, Boss. I’ll take care of it.”

Even as Roy began edging himself and Watson towards the door, Team One’s weapons stayed up and aimed. “The command is to stand down, Team One,” Parker ordered. Roy hit the open area; Ed, Wordy, and Jules shifted to cover him, weapons still aimed. “Stand down,” Parker repeated. From the landing, Sam and Lou’s expressions bore twin looks of frustration with their boss; they, too, kept aiming. Roy’s eyes darted sideways at them, but he kept moving backwards, hauling Watson with him. Team One followed, Greg calling, “Now, we don’t want anybody hurt, right? That’s important, right, Hank?” Sharply, he added, “Team One, the command was to stand down.”

Roy shoved the door behind him open with his shoulder and pulled Watson sideways into the opening. “Shoot him,” Watson growled.

“Shut up,” Roy countered, then they were gone and Greg was left to face Ed’s glare.

* * * * *

Spike, having already relayed Sarge’s orders, raced behind the trucks and into the tree line, carrying a StarChase rifle, already loaded with a GPS tracker. He made a mental note to get as many details about how well the tracker worked after this was over…the tracker was the latest SRU tech to get updated by the goblins; tiny runes insured the small tracker would never lose power, guaranteed to last for a month, and the tracker itself could tag the fleeing suspects with low-level tracking charms.

The bomb tech spotted Roy and Watson, heard Roy’s shouted, “We’re coming out!” He kept moving, getting by the house, just above the garage/driveway area in a tiny nook created by the ledge between the house and the garage. Spike was close enough to hear Roy demanding, “You got your keys?”

“Yep,” Watson replied, pulling them out and handing them to the undercover officer. Above, Spike watched closely, trying to figure out which car to tag.

“Open the door,” Roy ordered his hostage. As Watson opened a car door, Roy continued, “Get in. Put your hands on the dash.” As Roy moved around the front of the Hummer, Spike shifted back and Roy yelled, “Put them on the dash!”

Roy yanked open the driver door of the Hummer, getting in with a slam of the door and Spike took full advantage of the Hummer’s engine starting to fire the StarChase. The tracker flew, latching onto the Hummer’s tailgate as it started forward and roared away.

Spike grinned as the Hummer went. Boy, he loved it when a plan came together…and he loved it even _more_ when magic and technology came together to catch bad guys.


	5. Arms Dealer, Dark Wizard

Sam’s frustration boiled over as he stalked down from the landing, demanding, “He threatened a teammate, and we just let him walk?”

Over the sniper’s shoulder, Lou had his head cocked to the side, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Parker countered, “He wasn’t going to shoot his brother.” The light dawned, Lou nodded as his boss continued, “Right, we know that, but Nick didn’t. It’s where he goes next-- that’s what I’m interested in.”

Sam wasn’t convinced. “It’s a big gamble, boss.”

“He said, ‘I got someplace to go,’ ” Lou broke in, a slow grin spreading; Parker nodded to him and he kept going, “He said, ‘I know what I’m doing.’ That sounds like he’s got some kind of plan, guys.”

Building on Lou’s observation, Greg added, “Maybe he thinks he can’t afford to be taken into custody right now.”

Finally, Sam was on board as he muttered, “He said, ‘You follow me.’ ”

“Right?” Greg agreed. “So we’re going to follow.”

“Boss, we got to move,” Ed put in, his emotions still thrumming angrily in the background.

Calm, Parker replied, “Just let them have some distance, Eddie.”

“You heard his sarge,” Ed argued, “He has gone rogue, and now he’s got his partner’s killer in his hands.”

Frustrated with Ed’s refusal to see his brother in a better light, Parker flatly announced, “If he wanted Nick Watson dead, he’d be dead by now.”

Spike’s voice came over the comm. “I got him. He’s heading south towards the Queensway.”

“Okay, good work, Spike,” the Sergeant praised.

The team headed for the door as Jules mused, “So, Roy’s got a choice. The satisfaction of killing the guy or the satisfaction of shutting down his operation.”

“Cutting off a third of the city’s arms supply at the source,” Wordy put in, as they reached the driveway and started toward their trucks.

“He’s got to be leading us there,” Sam opined.

“I think you’re right, Sam,” Parker agreed.

“If he lives that long,” a new voice put in, grim; the team looked up at Giles Onasi, the Auror in his usual ‘tech’ outfit: dark brown dragon-hide jacket, black pants, knee-high black boots, and his wand holster slung low on his right leg.

Ed advanced, his sudden fear almost blasting Greg off his feet before the latter turned his ‘team sense’ off in self-preservation. “What do you mean, ‘if he lives that long’?” the team leader demanded sharply.

“Eddie,” Greg intervened, though he, too, turned an expectant eye on Onasi. The Auror looked pale in the lights from the trucks and the house and there were shadows in his eyes that made Greg’s heart clench.

Auror Onasi pulled in a deep breath. “Nick Watson’s a wizard.” As Team One froze in horror, Onasi went on. “He’s Muggleborn, been living, working, heck, even hiding, on both sides of the fence for _years_.” The Auror paced in front of them, his hands gesturing angrily as he spoke. “We’ve been after him _for_ years…he doesn’t just sell Muggle guns, he sells all sorts of magical items too; anything that can be used as a weapon, regardless of which world, he sells it. By living mostly on the Muggle side of things, he can avoid us Aurors pretty easily.” The man stopped, a muscle in his jaw working.

“What else?” Jules asked gently, stepping forward to place one hand on the upset man’s arm.

Onasi’s head lowered a little. “I knew him,” the man admitted quietly. “He was one of the fifth year prefects the year I started school, he was the guy who showed my group around school. He was older, but we ended up getting along pretty well.” Onasi jerked away from Jules to pace. “Even after he graduated, we kept in touch…commiserated over bad teachers, lousy Quidditch games, just stupid teenage stuff.”

More pacing. “I got into the Auror Academy right after graduating…made Auror rank three years later. My first couple cases were easy, then I got a tip about a magical arms dealer…tip was good enough that we took him down, no problem. I got promoted from a Junior Auror to a regular Auror two _years_ before most Aurors get promoted.” As Sam whistled in the background, Onasi shook his head. “That’s when things got…odd.”

Greg skipped ahead to the best conclusion. “Watson fed you the tip. He wanted you high enough in the Auror Division to help him.”

A brief nod. “Essentially, yeah. I might’ve been young and he was my friend, but I knew what he was asking for was Auror-only information. I didn’t give it to him, told him not to ask again.”

“And?” Jules pushed gently.

Haunted eyes turned to Team One. “Two days later, my wife and son went missing. I got a tip, same as I’d gotten before…I _found_ her…I was holding her and screaming for the Healers when she died.”

Very, very softly, Greg asked, “Your son?”

Onasi sucked in air, shaking his head. “Never found him. Case is still open.” Silence hung.

“How’d you know it was Watson?” Ed questioned.

Onasi’s eyes hardened. “He sent me one last letter…his _sympathies_ on the death of my wife and the disappearance of my son. We’d only released my wife’s obituary.”

“Taunting you,” Greg muttered angrily.

“After that, we went after him as hard as we could. Three Aurors went undercover, we pulled in a few…” Onasi’s voice trailed off, his brow furrowed. “Secret informers?”

“Confidential informants,” Lou offered up.

An acknowledging nod. In the light from the house and the surrounding cop cars, Onasi looked sick. “Watson _caught_ all of them…we found the informants scattered across half of Ontario.” He stopped, looking even worse. “The Aurors – he made examples of them. He _Crucioed_ them half to death, then locked them in these…reinforced buildings underground. Silencing wards around the whole thing.” A tear slipped down the Auror’s face. “They died of thirst.”

Dead silence hung over the group; Ed in particular looked just as sick as Onasi. “Okay, new plan,” Greg decided, “We arrest Watson as soon as we can…Roy can be mad all he wants; he’ll be _alive_ to be mad. Spike, where’s the tracker?”

Spike’s voice held sheer dread. “I lost the signal at Queensway and Kipling. Right at the tracks-- the overpass.”

“It’s pretty secluded,” Sam observed.

Team One traded grim looks, concerned as to _who_ had ordered the stop…Roy might have had the gun, but Watson had a _wand_ …in close quarters, with Roy caught off-guard, the wand would trump the gun.

“Let’s go,” Parker ordered, turning towards Onasi, “See how many Aurors are up for a manhunt, Auror Onasi, and meet us there. Team, everyone has Scorpio; getting Roy out alive is our first priority now.”

“Copy that,” Onasi managed as Team One hurried towards their trucks.


	6. What Kind Of Weapon is That?

Roy slid out of the driver’s seat of the Hummer, stalked around to the back, and snagged the tracker off the tailgate. There was a slight tingle as he grabbed it, but he dismissed that in favor of secreting the device in his coat pocket. Tracker secured, he strode to the passenger door and pulled it open. “Get out of the car.”

Watson had his hands up, but his arrogance was fully intact as he sneered, “You better think real hard about what you’re doing right now.”

Roy overrode the other man. “We’re switching cars. They’ll be looking for yours.”

“I thought we had a plan,” Watson argued.

_Sure…a plan to get us both killed,_ Roy thought. “Plan changed,” he replied briskly. “There’s only two of us. We were outgunned.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Watson growled.

“Which is why it worked,” Roy countered. “You were really scared. That’s why the cops bought it.”

“Oh, so you’re thinking on your feet,” came the sarcastic insult.

“You coming or what?” Roy demanded, gesturing at his own car. “We got a head start, but not for long.”

To his surprise, Watson casually pulled…a stick. Both of Roy’s brows shot up as he stared at the stick. “Never seen one of these before?” Watson inquired, his expression intent.

“What the heck is that?” Roy questioned.

“Insurance,” Watson drawled, waving the stick. “That ‘Sergeant Parker’ said Team One…now _that_ means something to me.”

Totally lost now, Roy cocked his head in silent question.

Watson looked at a shimmer between himself and Roy, then swore loudly. “Let’s go!” he demanded, waving at Roy’s car.

Roy didn’t argue; he bolted around the back of his car, slipping the tracker out of his pocket as he moved. He pulled his driver door open and tossed his black bag in the back, taking the opening to drop the tracker in the back seat, before turning the key and screeching out from under the overpass.

As he drove, Watson muttered to himself, swearing and hissing several highly colorful phrases, even as he adjusted his shirt, collar, and hair. Roy wanted to ask, but something told him to just keep quiet. After a block or two, Watson turned towards him, casual again. “You mind giving me that thing?”

Roy forced himself not to hesitate, quickly surrendering the automatic weapon to Watson. As Watson checked the gun over, he remarked, “It’s too bad about your house.”

“I got spares,” Watson replied, as casual as if they were discussing a shirt, not a house.

Keeping up his act, Roy questioned, “Your guys have been picked up by the cops now. Is that gonna cause a problem?”

“No, we’re on a need-to-know basis. Those guys know nothing. No worries.” Despite the casual tone, Watson looked as if he was getting angry again.

“So we still good to go?”

The undercover cop felt Watson’s gaze bore into the side of his head, but he stayed cool, calm, in control. “Are we?” Watson inquired; the barrel of the gun touched Roy’s neck. “Are we?”

“Easy.” It took an iron effort to keep from reacting. “Easy, it’s your call, brother.”

“My call?” Arrogance reeked. “It is now, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” Roy agreed.

“You’re at the front of the line, baby. You’re first.” Roy’s laugh was wheezy, but enough of a cackle that Watson bought it. “You want to go?”

“Where to?” Roy asked.

“Just keep going,” Watson instructed.

“Okay.” Roy kept his eyes on the road, but curiosity finally got the better of him. “What’s so special about ‘Team One’?”

For an instant, suspicion bored into him again. Then Watson leaned back. “Couple years back, a rumor starts flying around the magical world.” _Magical world?_ “There’s this group of Muggles…people who don’t have magic, like you…that’ve actually made _Auror_ status.” Watson’s laugh was harsh. “That’s like letting the Jews join the Gestapo.”

Roy whistled.

“Never believed it myself,” Watson drawled. “No way, no how; that’s not how they _do_ things in the magical world. If you’re not born in that world, if you only come in at eleven, like I did, you ain’t going nowhere. No _way_ they’d let a group of Muggles into the Auror Division. And I was right.”

“You were right?” Roy questioned, surprised.

“Yep,” Watson nodded. “We _both_ had tracking charms on us…takes a _wizard_ to cast that, Hank, old boy. No _way_ a Muggle could do that.”

“So, those cops…they were all wizards?” Roy demanded, hurt welling up already…had Ed hidden even _more_ from him? Magic? Did his brother…have magic?

“I’d say so…but they must’ve had some regular cop training…no pureblood would know one end of a gun from the other and they did.” An even harsher laugh. “I’d _pay_ to see one of those arrogant sods with a gun…they’d shoot themselves without even trying.”

Roy kept driving, but his heart sank. His brother, a wizard…and he hadn’t even trusted Roy enough to tell him the truth.

* * * * *

Spike inspected the tailgate of the black Hummer, grim. The tracker was gone; it should have been right _there_. He straightened up, turning towards his equally grim boss. “No sign of them.”

Lou moved past the pair, to where Ed and Jules were standing. Looking at a disturbed area of ground, he asked, “You think Roy could have had his own car here?”

“Could be…” Ed mused; worry had long since outstripped his anger and irritation with his brother.

“Why would he park here?” Jules asked aloud.

“Would you bring your own car to a gun buy?” Wordy questioned, rather rhetorically, from his spot at the front of the Hummer.

“I sure wouldn’t,” Sam muttered, almost to himself, as he stood right next to the disturbed patch of ground, scanning for any signs of a struggle or blood.

Jules shifted to be right next to Ed. “Ed, do you know what make and model your brother drives?”

Ed’s expression turned a trifle lost; Jules found it a bit sad, that Ed and his brother were so estranged that Ed didn’t even know what his brother drove. “No idea,” Ed admitted.

“I’ll look up his records,” Spike volunteered, hurrying for the Command Truck. Inside, he sat at his computer, then started. “Hey, guys, I got another read on the GPS tracker.” Hope was almost tangible as he continued, “It’s heading south towards the shipyards.”

Over the comm, Wordy sounded almost triumphant. “He switched the tracker onto his own car so we could follow.”

Ed, still shaken by Onasi’s revelations, questioned, “Then why’d he bother changing vehicles?”

“Make a point,” Lou opined.

“Earn the trust of his partner,” Jules agreed.

Sarge sounded a lot more cheerful as he observed, “That’s not too shabby for a Lane.”

As Lou scrambled into the Command Truck’s driver seat and the rest of the team hit the trucks, Spike grinned to himself. Roy was still alive; they still had a chance.

* * * * *

Roy kept pace with Watson as they walked; the latter had picked up two new bodyguards as soon as they’d arrived, the pair trailing their boss like obedient dogs. Roy forced himself to keep focused on his goal…he could scream at Ed for hiding the truth about his team later. The group walked past several workers busy with their machines, sparks flying around them as their machines buzzed, their destination a converted shipping container.

“This is my office,” Watson announced as they drew alongside the container.

“You didn’t strike me as a cubicle kind of guy,” Roy quipped.

“No?” Watson questioned, dry. At the doorway, both men paused, then Watson waved Roy in. “After you.” As Roy entered, he noted that the two bodyguards stayed outside the container, their automatic weapons ready for any…uninvited guests.

* * * * *

Team One was still alone; Onasi and his backup Aurors would Portkey in once they’d reached the shipyard. Spike, monitoring the tracker, called, “Ed, Roy’s car is three kilometers ahead of you, straight down the street, outside the shipyards.”

“Copy,” Ed replied, driving the lead truck.

“Right behind you,” Sam called from the second truck.

The four trucks screamed down the highway, racing to reach Roy before it was too late.

* * * * *

Roy restrained his surprise as Watson pulled a binder from his desk and announced, “All right, I got your bank account numbers. All you got to do now is transfer the remaining balance to this account number right here…and we’re done.”

“We’re done?” Roy questioned, taking the phone Watson thrust at him and looking down at the account number in the binder Watson had opened and turned towards him.

“Yeah, we’re done. Make the call.” Watson settled onto the desk, facing Roy. “All the goods are here. You can send your people over for a pickup as soon as we’re settled.”

Roy made no move to make a call. “Nick, no offense, but, uh, don’t you think we’re fast-forwarding here just a little bit, you know, considering the level of our acquaintance?” With a slight spread of one hand, Roy added, “Usually I get a good look before making a commitment of this size.” As Watson stared at him, Roy refused to flinch. “It’s just business,” he finished with a little shrug.

After a tense moment, Watson replied, “Yeah, I understand.” Raising his voice and not looking away from Roy, he called, “Matt! Dan! Come here.”

Roy turned his head as the pair came in, keeping his eyes on them even as he kept himself as calm as possible. Matt looked to be of Asian descent and had a buzzcut and a five o’clock shadow. The bodyguard’s eyes cut to Roy, checking to make sure that Roy hadn’t pulled anything. Behind him, Dan had black hair in a crew-cut, an all-black ensemble that reminded Roy of one of the gunmen back at the house, dark eyes, and narrow, sharp features.

As they entered, Watson snagged the black bag Roy had been carrying all evening and thrust it at Matt, ordering. “Matt, give Brendan a call. Get him to check out Hank’s bank account. Get him to call me if there’s any complications. Stick that,” he pointed to the bag, “in the vault.”

“Yeah,” Matt acknowledged as he left.

“Dan,” Watson continued, turning towards Roy and gesturing to him, “Check him out.”

As Dan reached for Roy, Roy thrust the other away in an offended show of pique. He ignored the thug’s “What?” and chuckled at both him and Watson before pulling his coat open enough for them to get a good look at his skintight shirt and lifting his right leg to place his boot on Watson’s desk.

“Easy,” Watson warned as Roy reached forward to pull his jeans leg up. Two tugs and Roy’s ankle holster and the white handled gun he’d palmed at the house were revealed; Dan snatched it away and gave it to his boss. “It’s funny,” Watson observed, taking the weapon, “Didn’t see you grabbing that one at the house.”

“It’s paid for,” Roy countered. “Is there a problem?” As he spoke, he shifted back to the bodyguard and spread his hands, palms up.

“Well…” Watson mused, drawing Roy’s gaze back, “Just business.”

Roy stared the arms dealer down. He _would_ get this done; he _would_ make things right…no matter what.


	7. Cornering Watson

Team One arrived on scene, lights flashing, but sirens off. They pulled behind the brown, four-door sedan parked on the shipyard ramp. Spike stayed in the Command Truck as the rest of Team One left their trucks. Lou scouted around and found a good spot; he called Onasi to get the ball rolling on the Auror team their liaison had rounded up. Less than a minute later, they Portkeyed in, using Lou’s phone as their homing beacon.

As Ed slid out of his truck’s driver seat, he called, “Okay, Greg, Roy led us here. Let’s see what we can find out.”

Greg, just as quick to move as his team leader, pulled the passenger door of Roy’s car open, calling back, “Left the keys in the car.”

“You want to grab them?” Ed questioned, opening the driver door.

“Yeah,” Greg acknowledged, snagging the keys out of the ignition, “Checking the trunk.” As the Sergeant moved out of the car and back to the trunk, Jules, Sam, and Wordy took up positions, weapons up and eyes on the move. Ed closed the driver door and brought his own weapon up, scanning the shadows with an intense, closed expression. Sarge popped the trunk and pulled a brown folio out, flipping it open as Sam shifted back, peeking curiously at the trunk’s contents. “Your brother’s been busy, Eddie,” the Sergeant announced, examining the folio’s documents.

Ed lowered his gun and jogged to his boss’s side, asking, “What do you mean?” He peered over Greg’s arm at the folio’s contents, his eyes widening at the work his brother had put into bringing down Nick Watson. As he snagged a loose photo, Ed observed, “He’s been trailing them.”

“Looks like he’s been working the case against Nick and his associates for about two months,” Sarge concluded as he did a quick scan of the rest of the folio.

“Since he was suspended,” Ed breathed.

“He’s off the job, his partner’s been killed…” Greg mused.

“And somewhere out there is the guy who put all these guns on the street,” Sam put in, his own eyes narrow and angry.

Ed nodded at the sniper, his gaze still on the folio. “And he’s trying to take him down personally.”

Sarge lowered the folio, returning it to the trunk. “Prove to everyone that he was a good cop after what happened.”

“Let’s get in there,” Ed said sharply, darting away as his boss closed the trunk. The Aurors and Lou met the team leader and the trailing members of Team One as they approached the gate into the shipyard. Ed kept his submachine gun up and shifted both gun and gaze as he moved towards the gate. With one glance at the gate, Ed ordered, “Wordy.”

Wordy lowered his weapon as he knelt down by a small sensor beside the gate, examining it a moment. “Spike…” he called on the comm as he snapped and sent a photo of the sensor, “What are we looking at?”

There was a moment’s pause as Spike searched the database for a match. “Motion sensor,” Spike sang out. “Little guy. Look for a red wire attached to a photo cell.”

Wordy crouched closer to the sensor, searching for the wire. “I don’t see it.”

“Remove the cap from the side,” Spike coached, a touch of humor in his voice.

“That’d be helpful,” Wordy muttered to himself as he obeyed. “I got it.”

“Cut it,” Spike instructed.

One snip and, “Done,” Wordy confirmed. “Sam?”

Sam moved in with the heavy duty cutters, snapping the chain on the gate in moments. Guns, already out, lifted higher, and wands slipped out of their holsters as the Aurors shifted into position behind Team One. The magic-users would have a much easier time shooting around Team One than the other way ‘round. Sam yanked the chain clear as Wordy pushed himself up and hurried over to help. The two men muscled the gate open for their teammates and Auror colleagues.

“Let’s get in there, guys. You know the drill,” team leader Ed Lane ordered briskly.

Team One took the lead as they entered, Ed in front and the rest of the team bunched up and keeping their weapons ready as they moved. The Aurors hung back, but stayed as close to Team One as they could, unnerved by the purely tech area. Only Onasi was even halfway comfortable as the group entered the maze of shipping containers and even _he_ was hanging close to Sergeant Parker, his eyes flicking from the path to the containers and back.

As they moved further in and turned the corner, Sarge called, “Spike, what do we got on the warehouse?”

In the background, Spike’s keyboard clicked away. “Owned by the same numbered company that owned the house. 67034 Holdings, aka Dagmar Trade Services.”

“Good work, Spike,” Parker praised as they reached a corner and Ed peeked around it.

“Service with a smile,” Spike confirmed cheerfully, trying to keep things upbeat.

“This is the center of ops for the gun runners,” Ed growled, anxious to keep moving, but aware they needed to handle this right to get his brother out safely.

“Roy was in a hurry to get us here tonight,” Sarge mused.

“Maybe he’s sitting on a shipment,” Sam suggested.

“Well, if he is, he doesn’t have enough cash to back up what’s in the bag,” Jules pointed out, worry racing across her face.

“Or he’s counting on us to get him out fast,” Parker countered, though worry shone on his face as well. Roy had no idea how dangerous the situation was, no idea how close he was to a ruthless killer.

“Before his new friends figure out who he is,” Ed concluded. “Sam, Jules,” he added with a quick hand signal at the warehouse they were close to. “Spike, what about that floor plan?”

Onasi turned towards his own men, pointing at two and jerking his head towards Sam and Jules. The two Aurors hurried after the constables, catching up and hanging close, wands out. The constables shifted to let the Aurors close, each one choosing a ‘partner’ as they ran.

Concern had re-entered the bomb tech’s voice. “Sorry, Ed, the zone’s uncharted. We’re gonna have to eyeball it.” As he spoke, Sam and Jules raced around the outside of the warehouse, checking for any entrances or exits. “It’s basically a square structure, 70 meters by 60.”

Sam, now at the opposite side of the warehouse’s front wall, reported, “Single story, front access, white wall.”

“Loading dock, side door, red wall,” Jules added, coming up behind her teammate. Neither Auror spoke, but then, they didn’t have radios like Team One did.

“On my go,” Ed ordered, his eyes hard. He took one last look around, then said, “Let’s hit it.” On both sides of the warehouse, the Aurors and constables moved, closing in on their prey.

The Aurors and the constables had, by this point, paired off; each Auror sticking close to a member of Team One, but out of the line of fire. They entered the warehouse, right behind a conveyer belt, and moved along behind the equipment, weapons up. Ed signaled a brief halt, the Aurors a beat behind Team One. From farther in the warehouse, they could hear the sound of machinery being used, buzzing and cutting, and the voices of the workmen. Ed considered their next move, then signaled his plan. The Aurors were mystified, but hung close to ‘their’ Team One members, letting the techies take the lead.

Wordy and Lou took the lead, tossing flash bangs right by the workmen. As the flash bangs went off, Ed’s roar cut the air, “Police!”

“Police! SRU!” Sam yelled.

“Hands on your head!” Wordy ordered, coming from another direction with Lou on his heels.

Lou’s, “Nobody move!” overlapped with Jules’, “Hands in the air!”

Team One descended on the workmen, leaving the Aurors, for the moment, in the dust. In a matter of moments, the workmen were corralled and being arrested. “Let’s go, right here, right here!” Ed snapped at his captive.

“Hands on your head,” Wordy ordered his own man, shoving the man against a handy shipping container.

Lou and Jules stayed in the center area, keeping a watch out for any stray workmen. “Against the wall!” Jules ordered.

“Up against the wall!” Sam hissed at the last workman.

Two of the workmen struggled a bit against the officers holding them, prompting a sharp “Against the wall, now!” from Lou.

Ed, satisfied that his captive was unarmed, ordered, “Get your hands down! Put your hands down!” before spinning the man around and giving him a death glare as he aimed his submachine gun.

“Jules, gun,” Wordy called, holding the gun out for Jules to snag. As Jules secured the weapon, Wordy continued, “Spike, three subjects acquired. No Hank, no Nick.”

Lou, still free range, raised his voice for all three subjects to hear. “We’re looking for Nick Watson and his associate Hank. Where are they?”

Silence hung; not a single one of the subjects uttered so much as word. Ed, afraid for his brother, glanced around and demanded, “Nobody’s talking?” He glared even harder at his captive, shifting his submachine gun to point directly at the man. “You want me to break the rules?” he growled, “You want me to? ‘Cause I will. I will.” Over Ed’s shoulder, Onasi loomed, his own expression just as hard as the team leader’s.

Before any of their teammates could intervene, Sergeant Parker appeared, a red binder of paperwork in hand. The Sergeant didn’t even glance as his subordinate as he announced, “Eddie, shipping manifest, listing containers belonging to Dagmar. We find the containers…” The only sign that Parker _had_ noticed Ed’s actions consisted of a subtle head shake and a reproving look at both his team leader and Auror Onasi.

“We find Nick and Hank,” Lou concluded.

As Team One rounded up their catch, Parker’s attention shifted to their tech. “Spike, I need you to contact the port authority to locate some containers.” He pulled out his phone, snapping a quick picture of the paperwork. “I’m sending you an image now.”

Behind him, Ed ordered, “Let’s get these guys and throw them into a container. Let’s go! Let’s go!” The Aurors watched as Team One picked a container and locked the three captives inside.

* * * * *

In another area of the shipping yard, a green shipping container stood in a small clearing, stacks of shipping containers all around it. An old, blue utility truck stood near its open door, with a crane on its right side. The crane, its cables strung like gossamer threads between the crane head and its motor housing, hung silently next to the cab, stowed for transport. Between the truck and the open door of the container a man with an automatic rifle paced, keeping his eyes open for any uninvited guests.

Inside the container, another man stood guard with his own rifle as two final men stood over the open crates of neatly packed weapons. Roy inspected the rifle he’d just pulled out with a handheld worklight, checking for any serial numbers on the stock. Watson finished opening a crate, revealing several more packed weapons as he spoke. “All right, you got another forty units right here. Near-mint condition. Again, these are all untraceable.”

Still examining the rifle he was holding, Roy questioned, “How about the serial numbers? They all filed down?” As he checked the rifle, he repeatedly glanced out the open door of the container, waiting, praying, that his brother and his team would arrive before Nick figured out ‘Hank’ was a scam. As hurt as he was by Ed hiding even _more_ things from him, he was far more unnerved by Watson; Watson’s callous and vengeful nature made the veteran cop squirm internally.

“Yeah,” Watson confirmed, “We use acid.”

* * * * *

Spike’s fingers flew, his eyes intent. On the screen an aerial diagram of a group of containers appeared, several lighting up green. “I’ve got a cluster of containers in the shipyard’s northeast sector. I’m uploading a map to you now.”

On the opposite end of the comm, Parker inspected the image that appeared on his phone. Good, they had a location…now they just needed to reach Roy before it was too late.

* * * * *

Inside the green container, Roy put the rifle he’d been inspecting down and moved over the crate Watson had opened. “These I’ve sold before,” he started, referring to the rifle, “But not these,” he finished, looking down at the crated weapons. They were all identical to the gun Roy had seen and nearly used at Watson’s house.

“These are good,” Watson told him, a smug undertone to his voice, “The teenagers like those. You move them fast.”

As Watson spoke, Roy grabbed the top weapon and inspected it under the worklight, flipping it over to check the other side. “I like it,” Roy told the arms dealer.

“Good,” Watson murmured with a quick nod. As Roy put the gun back, Watson asked, “So it’s a deal?”

“Yeah,” Roy replied; he was running out of time, but to break character now would be bad, very bad.

“Just waiting on those numbers,” Watson remarked, placing his light on a nearby crate. “Let’s pack it up.”

Outside, the patroller, Dan, spotted a light flashing in the distance, attracting his attention. He moved towards the light, leaving the immediate area and checking the maze surrounding his boss’s container. His gun shifted up, aiming towards where he could see the light. As he passed a gap between two stacks of containers, he was hit from the side and slammed into the opposite stack of containers. His finger tightened on the trigger, firing his weapon wildly as he fought against his unknown attacker.

Back in the container, Roy and Watson jerked up and around at the weapons discharge. The remaining bodyguard, Matt, swung his rifle down to a ready position, moving to the open door.

Even pressed against the wall, Dan kept his finger down on the trigger as his gun was forced down by his attacker. Beyond the containers, he spotted two cops run out from where he’d seen the light, one, in an SRU uniform, carrying a gun, the other, in a trenchcoat, with a stick.

“Door!” Watson ordered, one finger pointing at the door as his other hand flicked, his stick dropping into his right hand. As Matt hauled the door shut, Roy’s eyes widened in fear…he was trapped inside a shipping container with a magical arms dealer and his bodyguard. He forced the fear down as he turned his head towards the wizard behind him.

Dan managed to get off two more shots before the cop yanked his weapon away and pulled him forward to fling him down on the ground. As he fell, he realized there was another trenchcoated cop with ‘his’ cop, stick in hand. He ended up sprawled on the ground as the four cops surrounded him; the two gun wielding cops took the lead as ‘his’ cop followed him down and pinned him to the ground. “Don’t move,” the husky cop ordered, “Don’t move a muscle.”

The other gun wielding cop, blond with a rifle, announced, “One subject down. Northeast perimeter is clear.”

* * * * *

“Copy that,” Parker acknowledged, his own Auror only a step behind him. “Team, take your positions around the container.” The Sergeant had his shield in his left hand, sidearm in his right, as he moved.

On the opposite side of the container, Jules hurried up into position, her submachine gun in hand. Behind her, Auror Onasi hovered, wand out; he cast a shield as soon as Jules stopped moving. The shield shimmered in the night, but was almost invisible in the shadows.

Ed took a third approach, his Auror scrambling to keep up with the angry team leader. As Ed peeked around the corner, his heart dropped at the closed container door. He jerked back behind cover, teeth gritting at the new setback. The Auror just behind him shook his head and cast a quick shield, offering Lane a bit more protection if he peeked around the corner again.

Sergeant Parker let his shield down as he reached Spike and Lou. Lou was hefting a shield of his own as Wordy moved up behind his teammates. Their Auror escorts bunched together, conferring quietly before one of them cast a spell on Lou’s shield, strengthening the shield’s protective spells. The rest of them spread out again, wands ready to cast more shielding spells if need be.

With preparations complete, Ed yelled, “This is the police! Open up the container. Throw your weapons out. Do it now!”

* * * * *

Roy swallowed nervously as the stick jabbed into his neck. “Got the déjà vu, Hank?” Watson demanded, a lethal light in his eyes. “Got any theories?”

Ignoring the stick, Roy jabbed his forefinger into Watson’s chest and shoved him back into the crate behind him. “Yeah. Yeah, one of your guys talked.”

Watson shoved him harder, knocking him back into another crate, that stick coming up to point at his face. “My guys don’t know this place,” he snarled.

Roy forced himself to look Watson in the eyes – the stick’s point glowing an ugly red and Watson’s expression pure hate.


	8. Lane Versus Wizard

“Come out with your hands where we can see them. Do it now!” Ed yelled, controlling his panic with an iron effort. He wanted Roy _out_ of there and _safe_ ; never mind all the trouble Roy was in, going rogue, never mind _any_ of that.

“Eddie,” Wordy hissed, “We got an opening? Tear gas. Flush them out. Take them down.”

Regretful, Ed hissed back, “It’s too risky. If there’s ammo in there the whole thing will blow.”

* * * * *

“Nick, we got enough firepower here,” Roy fudged, “We’re just gonna have to fight our way out.”

He knew he’d slipped when Watson gave him a disgusted look. “The ammo travels separately, you idiot. You ought to know that. That’s an anti-hijacking precaution.” The stick stopped glowing as Watson waved it in Roy’s face. “All we got is what we’re holding right here. Even if I _conjure_ ammo, it won’t be enough to fight our way out.”

Parker was Roy’s inadvertent salvation, as the Sergeant called, “Hank! Nick! Sergeant Parker again. We seem to be spending an awful lot of time on opposite sides of the door, so what do you say we come up with a better strategy?”

As Parker spoke, Watson worked his way past Roy, keeping that stick of his pointed at Roy. The wizard backed away, turning his head towards Parker’s voice as if he could see right through the container walls. Roy took the moment’s grace to harden his expression, keeping his cover in place as Watson looked back at him, a deadly glint in his ice-cold eyes. “You with me?” he demanded.

Roy nodded, his only course of action clear. “Let’s do it.”

Watson moved to the door, peeking out the one open crack, before glancing back and ordering, “Get the light.” Roy quickly turned off both the flashlight next to him and the light they’d left on one of the crates. Watson pushed the door open an inch; it gave a rusty screech as it moved.

* * * * *

“Door,” Jules hissed, jerking up and back into cover. Her team shifted to ready positions, weapons aiming at the container and Ed even jerking around the corner of his own container to take aim.

“All right, let’s talk!” Watson yelled from the container.

* * * * *

Roy kept his eyes on the move, looking between Watson and Matt as he searched for an opening. Team One would back him, he _knew_ they would, magic or no magic. He had what he wanted and now, now it was time to bring the night to a close.

His brother’s boss, as always, was game to talk. “Nick, you and your buddy Hank there had us worried for minute with that false-hostage maneuver. That was well-played-- the both of you-- well-played.”

Watson looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon as he yelled, “Thanks,” back at Parker.

Roy allowed a brief smirk as Parker went on. “Now, we both know the damage we can do, so let’s not go there, okay?”

Then Watson, looking back at the opening, cocked his head to the side. Roy felt his heart drop to his shoes as Watson whispered to Matt, “She’s exposed, right here.” He pointed at the opening as he spoke. “Right here.”

“Let me see,” Matt whispered back, hefting his rifle.

The two men traded places as Parker droned on. “What do you say we keep this simple, look for a way to have everyone walk out of here?”

Roy felt his insides turn to ice as Matt peered through his scope and Watson asked, “Can you get her?”

“How’s that sound?” Parker rambled on, oblivious to what Roy could see and hear.

“There’s a pole,” Matt murmured. “I can ricochet it as a forehead shot.”

“You see it, take it,” Watson ordered.

“Nick!” Parker called, “Come on. I don’t see any point…”

Matt made a frustrated movement. “Out of range…come on.”

“…in underestimating each other here. You’re a smart individual. Running an operation like this, undetected for so long…” Careful, slow, Roy picked up the flashlight right next to him, but not quite discreetly enough as Watson looked back at him. “So I know you’re smart enough to talk about realistic options right now. All right, there’s a couple ways this can go.”

“Hank?” Watson asked, a thread of warning running through the one word.

“Just trying to think of a realistic option,” Roy lied.

“And what do you think?” Watson questioned, stepping towards him.

Roy shook his head. “I think there’s no way we’re walking out of this one.”

Watson’s smirk was visible even in the dim container and he nodded as he said, “Ah, yeah, we are.” Jerking his head at Matt, he added, “We do it _my_ way this time.”

“Come on, Nick,” Parker pleaded from outside.

“We take her out, use the distraction, blast our way out of here,” Watson bragged.

Roy’s eyes focused on Matt as Parker called, “Can you hear me? I just need to know that…”

“She’s back,” Matt announced.

Before he could fire, Roy moved, bashing the goon over the head with the flashlight and dropping him just as he fired, the gunshot striking the top of the container. Roy shoved the goon at Watson, getting just enough space to pull his service weapon as Watson staggered. In the next instant, Watson recovered, that stick of his coming up and aiming at Roy’s chest as Roy’s own weapon returned the favor.

“Cop,” Watson hissed, hate glowing in his eyes.

“Yep,” Roy confirmed calmly; he wasn’t afraid any more, just grim and determined. Even if he went down now, he’d saved Jules, saved his brother’s teammate. And Watson was done, finished.

“You got me when I was greedy,” Watson opined, the tip of his stick glowing that ugly red again. “I should have listened to my gut.”

Roy opted not to reply. Instead, he raised his voice and shouted, “Sergeant Parker! It’s Roy Lane. The game’s changed.”

* * * * *

As Roy yelled again, his “Sergeant Parker!” echoing even for those Team One members _without_ enhanced hearing, Ed concluded, “He’s blown his cover.” For a moment, team leader and Sergeant exchanged looks, concern, worry, and resolve flying between them in that instant.

“Cover me,” Sarge ordered, tapping Lou’s shoulder and moving past him and Spike to the green container’s wall. Wordy pulled out a box shaped thermal scanner to get a quick ‘n’ dirty read on the situation inside. Glancing at the screen, Parker reported, “One of them’s down.”

“Sergeant Parker, you hear me?!”

Ed suppressed his own flinch as his boss cringed at Roy’s volume. “Yeah, yeah,” Sarge called back, his voice rock steady as always. “We’re trying to…trying to understand the situation in there. The subject on the ground…”

“Out cold, but he’s fine,” Roy shouted.

“Okay,” Greg acknowledged, moving back to his ready position. Behind Team One, the Aurors shifted to ready positions of their own. “Okay, that’s good to know. So, what do you say we open things up a bit, let some light in there? It’s always helpful to see faces.”

Roy’s response was immediate as he shoved the container door open, using enough force that Team One had _more_ than enough room; Team One scrambled into new positions, covering both Roy and Watson with their weapons. The Aurors were only a step behind their tech colleagues.

“Hold fire, hold fire,” Ed ordered.

Soft, low, Parker gave an order of his own. “Fan out.” Spike and Wordy ducked back into the maze of containers to get around to the other side and take up positions next to the blue city truck, opposite the now open container door. Jules stayed in her corner spot for the moment, though she, too, was ready to move. Their Aurors continued to shadow them; behind Jules, Onasi’s eyes narrowed to slits at the sight of Watson.

As they moved, Ed hissed, “Sam, get in position.” The sniper and his Auror hurried off, disappearing in moments.

Roy, still facing Watson, tilted his head, taunting, “Come on.” He began to back out of the container, Watson matching him step for step as Roy taunted again, “Come on.”

Greg restrained his fury towards Watson, yanking his negotiator mask and tone back on again. “Let’s break this down, gentlemen. Neither one of you wins right now by using your weapon.”

As the stand-off continued, Spike and Wordy reappeared, taking up their new positions; Lou stayed near Parker, but did shift to a better angle. The shadowing Aurors stayed on ‘their’ techie’s heels. Though all the Aurors had their wands drawn, only Onasi had his wand aimed; the tip of his wand glowed, echoing his inner fury.

Ed kept his voice even as he called, “Roy, you played all your cards right here tonight.” From his position, he could see Roy trembling, his younger brother’s anger at Watson finally getting its chance to break free. “Now, you had a chance to kill this guy, and you let him live. You have made the smart choice. Now, let’s figure this out _now_.”

Roy didn’t even turn his head, his eyes boring into Watson’s as he replied, “I let him live so that he’d bring us here. Right now I’m not seeing the point so much.”

Above the tableau, Sam perched in the spot he’d found, submachine gun aimed right at Watson. His Auror shadow hadn’t been able to fit in the nook, but Sam didn’t mind; the Aurors still tended to get squirrelly over sniper shots, though they were much better with Team One’s tactics in general these days.

Roy gave Watson a smirk, declaring, “You’re done.”

Ed’s calm, though still present, was beginning to shred as he tried to get Roy’s attention off the arms dealer. “Roy? Okay, come on, buddy. Roy? Roy, listen to me.”

Roy didn’t even twitch; it was as if he and Watson were all alone. “You gonna shoot me, huh, Nick?” he taunted. “Gonna shoot me? Go ahead.” With that, Roy’s gun came away from its target as Roy spread his hands wide.

“Roy!” Ed called, his voice rising at his brother’s move and the way that wand of Watson’s was glowing again, an ugly red color that Ed had a nasty, _nasty_ suspicion about.

“Won’t make a darn bit of difference if you shoot me,” Roy claimed, practically egging Watson on.

“Roy!” Ed tried again. That wand was following Roy’s every move as the cop shifted back, then forward, getting in _closer_ to the arms dealer.

“But Jerome Brant-- my partner, my _best_ friend--” Ed cringed, he hadn’t realized just how close Roy was to his partner, stupid, _stupid_ , look how close he himself was to Team One. “Now, there’s a guy who should still be on his feet. There’s a guy who should still be breathing.” Roy brought his gun back up, aiming again as he yelled, “There’s a guy who’d be tucking his kids into bed right now!”

“Roy!” Now it was a shout, trying to avert the worst-case scenario playing out right in front of Ed’s eyes.

Finally, Roy responded to his brother’s calls. “He killed my partner!” Roy yelled back.

“He didn’t know your partner,” Ed countered, wishing he could wipe Watson’s smug smirk off his face.

“He put that shotgun out on the street…” Roy all but sobbed.

And now, _now_ , Watson just _had_ to stick his two cents in. “If I didn’t do it,” the wizard sneered, “Somebody else would have.” He looked pleased at Roy’s distress; delighted by the reaction he was provoking from the rogue cop. Behind Jules, Onasi’s growl was audible, but fortunately, Watson didn’t turn to look.

“You think he has any idea, Ed?” Roy questioned, though his eyes and gun stayed on Watson.

“Roy, I need you to listen to me here,” Ed started, falling back on negotiating, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“You think he sees…” Roy continued, ignoring Ed again.

“Okay, just for one second,” Ed pleaded.

“…what the kids do to each other with those guns?”

“I did not create the demand,” Watson countered, smug arrogance fairly reeking in each word.

“You think this…this piece of garbage…” Roy shook his head, his gun trembling as his one-handed aim started to give way.

“Roy?” He couldn’t give up, couldn’t sit back and let Roy ruin his life over a murderer who’d never see the light of day again _anyway_.

“…knows what that looks like?” Roy was close to crying and Ed shoved his first response – stunned – in a box. Roy was more of a cop than Ed had ever given him credit for, cop enough to be affected by everything they saw on the job, the senseless deaths, the senseless shootings, the family tragedies.

“Don’t preach to me,” Watson sneered, “Don’t preach to me.”

Onasi’s growl was louder; Jules sidestepped to be between the Auror and the arms dealer who’d murdered his wife.

“Want to know what it feels like?” Roy demanded, bringing his free hand up and bracing his service weapon, ready and able to shoot Watson at point blank range.

“Yeah, show me. Show me,” Watson goaded; Roy’s left hand dropped away again, the man himself panting in his anger. “Come on, shoot me,” Watson taunted.

“Roy? You’re better than this. I know you are.” Ed’s voice was calm, far calmer than he felt. He had to believe he could reach Roy, had to believe that Roy was a good cop who wouldn’t let himself go that far.

“Do it,” Watson kept going, “Go ahead. Preach to me.” He laughed, making his disdain for Roy and every other cop clear.

“I know you are,” Ed finished. _Come on, Roy. Don’t do it._

Roy’s entire body trembled as he fought with himself. Finally, he let out a loud sigh, pulled his sidearm back and above his head, and ejected the magazine. Both arms came up, the barrel of his weapon pointing skyward, the classic surrender pose. Then Roy let his arms and unloaded pistol come back down as he let his breath and tension out in a huff.

“You, too, Nick,” Greg called. “Let’s end this.”

The wand stayed pointed at Roy’s chest, glowing even brighter, changing from red to orange; Ed tensed. Watson’s sneer grew wider as the wand’s glow grew brighter, a spell practically trembling on the wand tip.

Roy stared at the wand, his expression resigned, done. “It’s over,” Roy told the arms dealer, sniffing back his tears, “It’s over.”

Watson’s smirk faded and, after several tense moments, he lowered his wand. Roy let a sigh of relief out; the wand snapped back up. “ _Confringo_ **(1)** _!_ ”

“ _Protego_ **(2)** _!_ ” rang out, the spell simultaneous with a gunshot.

Watson collapsed backwards, his wand spilling out of his hand as he fell; Roy, hit by the curse at point blank range, flew backwards into the side of a blue shipping container. The undercover cop slid down the side of the container, his shirt burned away, the chest beneath blackened and scorched; Roy gasped and groaned as he fell, his eyes sliding shut.

“Roy!” Ed howled, leaping towards his brother, his gun dropping out of his hands and dangling on its strap without a second look. “Roy! What the heck were you doing?” The cop ended up on his knees next to his brother, gaping in horror at the damage to Roy’s chest.

Ed’s Auror shadow summoned and sent off a Patronus as Jules keyed her radio. “We need a medic,” she requested, before bending over and picking up Watson’s fallen wand.

Onasi flew from Jules’ side to Roy and Ed, his face pale, echoes of his own tragedy etched in the shadows of his eyes, the grim lines on his forehead. The wizard halted right next to the brothers, lifting his wand and casting a quick, “ _Lumos_ **(3)**.” In the light from the wand, Roy’s chest looked even worse, blackened, scorched, and cratered. Then Roy groaned, his eyes flickering open again.

“Roy!” Ed cried; without thinking he rested one hand on his brother’s chest, then stiffened. “Knife,” he barked, holding his free hand out.

Onasi moved faster than Wordy, the latter of whom was hovering over his best friend and his best friend’s brother with a look of sheer misery on his face, yanking a rather sharp looking knife from an inner pocket and placing the handle in Ed’s hand. Ed brought his hand around, yanking the now ruined shirt away from his brother’s torso; the cop switched his grip on the blade, sliding it up under a seam neither Onasi nor Wordy could see, before cutting through the fabric, pulling the knife on an upward slant as he went. Onasi leaned forward, shining his wand light so he could see as Lane gripped…something…and pushed it up and away. Underneath, the skin was untouched.

“He’s got a vest,” Ed called, his entire frame slumping in relief. “He’s got a vest,” he repeated, almost to himself. Roy groaned again and Ed pushed down gently. “Easy, Roy, stay down; you’re okay.”

Onasi looked over his shoulder at Watson as Spike and Parker stood over him. Parker had a pair of hand cuffs in hand and Spike was kneeling next to the fallen wizard. “He’s dead, boss,” Spike reported, before taking the cuffs Parker offered him and flipping Watson over to cuff him.

The Auror drew in a deep, shuddering breath, before turning his back on the dead man and looking down at the living one. Ed happened to be glancing up and Wordy’s attention shifted to Onasi at the look on Ed’s face. “I’m sorry,” Ed said quietly, “I was hoping we could take him alive…”

Roy looked confused by the statement. But Onasi understood and he shook his head. “No, it’s okay…he tried to kill a cop.” Against his will, he looked over his shoulder again. “Besides, I don’t think he would have told us anything…not about Dustil.”

“Dustil?” Roy questioned, the dazed look on his face starting to fade.

Ed made to shush his brother, but Onasi just shook his head again. “My son,” the Auror replied simply. “Watson kidnapped him and my wife years ago…we never found him.” He left out the undercover Aurors and the…confidential informants…he’d let Ed chose when to share _that_ tidbit with his brother.

Roy’s gaze fixed on Onasi’s still lit wand. “You, you’re like him…” he started, before trailing off and looking rather sheepish. “I-I mean,” he stammered.

“Magic,” Wordy offered helpfully. There was little point in keeping the secret…Roy already knew. The husky constable leaned over, taking a good look at Roy’s ruined vest; he let out a low whistle. “Roy, is that _your_ vest?”

“Um, yeah…why?”

Onasi’s eyes widened and he peeked at the vest himself, before canceling his light spell and casting a quick diagnostic. “Bloody _hell!_ ” he hissed. “My _Protego_ caught some of it, but the vest caught the rest!” He shifted, giving Roy a quick once over with his eyes. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, “Besides the headache, I mean.”

Roy gave his head a little shake; his brother kept him down on the ground, hovering anxiously. The cop frowned, considering the question. “Don’t think so,” Roy finally offered up. “Doesn’t hurt anyway.” As Onasi hissed again in shock, Roy regained his mental footing enough to cast Ed a hurt look. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Confused, Ed shook his head, “Tell you about what?”

The younger man bit his lip, looking between his brother, Onasi, Wordy, and the cuffed body only a few meters away. “About magic…about having it.”

“About having…Roy, I _don’t_ have magic,” Ed protested at once. Wordy nodded vigorous agreement over his best friend’s shoulder, but Onasi had his head cocked to one side.

Before Roy could hurl any more accusations, Onasi held up a hand for silence. “He found the tracking charms,” the Auror stated flatly. At Roy’s single nod, Onasi shook his head, then started laughing. All three cops traded startled looks as the Auror laughed, so hard he had to put one hand on the shipping container to keep his balance. After a minute, Onasi stopped, though he smirked, wide and fierce. “Got every pureblood from here to London frothing at the mouth over _Muggle_ Aurors, most of the half-bloods torn between disapproval and cheering you lot on, and the Muggleborn _criminal_ living in _both_ worlds thought you were _wizards_.” He dissolved into snickers before laughing even harder as the two SRU cops gave him bemused looks and Roy gaped from his spot on the ground.

“ ‘Muggle’?” Roy mouthed at his brother, both brows quirked.

“Non-magical,” Ed filled in quietly, “We use technological or techie…Spike came up with it; We didn’t like ‘Muggle’ either.” Ed sighed and lowered his voice even further. “Roy, I promise you, no member of Team One has magic, and, as far as I know, Clark doesn’t have magic either. The tracking charms came from that tracker Spike deployed on Watson’s Hummer… _that’s_ part magic, but _we_ aren’t.”

Roy cocked his head, but understanding was filtering in. “You had to keep it secret,” he remarked, the hurt fading away at Ed’s nod. Though it was clear that Roy wasn’t _entirely_ happy yet, he was satisfied for the moment…and looking steadier by the second.

“You ready to get up?” Ed asked. At Roy’s nod, Ed got his arm behind Roy’s shoulders and heaved him upwards; Wordy slid around to Roy’s other side and helped get the undercover/rogue cop upright again. Looking over at Onasi, Ed questioned, “What about Sam?”

Onasi, by this time, had recovered from his laughing fit. He shook his head. “Watson was a wizard,” he reminded all three men. “Everything after Roy and Watson left that house is covered under the Official Secrets Act…as no member of your SIU[4] is currently signed onto the Act, they can’t investigate what they aren’t cleared for.” The Auror scrubbed one toe of his boots through the dirt. “We don’t have SIU on our side, so…no investigation, Auror Braddock just goes back on duty.”

Ed had expected that, in a way. There hadn’t been SIU investigations for any of the _other_ times Team One had been forced to go lethal on magic-side subjects. He did wonder how long such a policy could be kept up, though…sooner or later there was going to be a magic-side subject that SIU found out about or something equally unpleasant. For the moment, though, he opted to just drop work and enjoy his brother being alive. Wordy read his look perfectly and shepherded Onasi away.

Roy looked like a mess. Though he’d escaped without serious injury, the curse at point blank range had left a few small singe marks on his face and hands. He had yet to pull off the utterly _ruined_ vest and it hung from the side Ed hadn’t cut; his shirt was a complete loss and likely his long coat as well. Ed deliberately ignored all of that. “Boy, you are in for a ride here,” he told his brother, “This-This rogue business, the stealing money…”

“I know,” Roy admitted.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Ed told him.

A brief nod. “I know.” Roy stared at the ground, waiting for the rest.

“You kept the peace, Roy.”

“Yeah?” Roy questioned, not looking up.

“Yeah,” Ed confirmed, “I am gonna put in a word,” Roy’s head came up, he stared at his brother, “and we are gonna get you back on the job.”

Roy almost gaped at his brother, Ed had _never_ put in a good word for him before. After several moments, he offered his hand. Ed ignored the hand and the dangling vest in favor of pulling Roy into a fierce hug, tightening his grip and offering silent thanks that his brother had _survived_. “I am so proud of you,” he managed to get out past the lump in his throat.

It took the startled Roy a second to grasp what was happening and then he hugged back, though not quite as fiercely; he had yet to find out just how _close_ he had come to death, curse notwithstanding. Softly, almost too soft to hear, he replied, “Love you, man.”

If Ed’s hug tightened even more, well, Roy was smart enough not to protest.

* * * * *

Greg stood in the briefing room, checking over the transcript one last time before it would be stowed away and filed under Team One’s expanding ‘classified’ cases. Ed strolled in and over to him as the sun peeked through the windows. “A third of the city’s gun supply stopped at the source.”

“That’s a start,” Parker agreed, signing the front page.

“He took ‘em on single-handed,” Ed breathed.

“He had a lot to prove, Eddie.”

“Yeah,” came the soft agreement.

“You guys make good?”

Ed twitched. “Yeah, for now. But sooner or later, he’s gonna ask if we knew about magic…”

“Before the Sunrise,” Greg filled in, sighing at Ed’s nod. “And?”

Another twitch. “Onasi gave me permission to tell Roy about his wife, son, and those undercover Aurors,” the team leader admitted.

Greg considered. “Tell him about what happened to me, Eddie.”

“Sarge,” Ed protested.

The Sergeant shook his head. “Ed, it’s not a secret and Roy’s signed onto the Act now. If it comes down to it, I bet Wordy would let you tell Roy about Anderson and the girls.” Silence hung a moment. “What about the other thing?” Greg questioned.

“What do you mean?” Ed queried, cocking his head.

“I mean about Sophie staying with her mom.”

Ed’s words were calm, but Greg didn’t need his ‘team sense’ to know his team leader was hurt by Sophie’s actions. “I’m okay. I mean, it’s okay. She…She’s gonna get some rest. It’s just for a while, so…”

He hated to say it, but, “Last time I came home to an empty house, it stayed that way for eight years.” Unspoken was the fact that Greg _hadn’t_ gotten his wife and son back, he’d gotten a new niece and nephew.

“That’s not what this is about,” Ed claimed.

Unconvinced, but unwilling to push harder, Greg shrugged and replied, “I’m just saying-- go careful.” As he left, he resisted the temptation to flick his ‘team sense’ on. This was one family issue that he had no business messing with.

At least for now…

 

_~ Fin_

 

[1] Latin for ‘I break’

[2] Latin for ‘I protect’

[3] Latin for ‘light’

[4] The Special Investigation Unit is a civilian agency responsible for investigating serious incidents or the use of lethal force by a member of law enforcement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnddd...cut! I hope this episode twister wasn't too boring for longtime _Flashpoint_ fans, but I just so enjoy them. At any rate, please do read and comment. Our next story, "Meeting Dean Parker", will kick off February 23rd, 2018.
> 
> Happy Reading and Keep the Peace, ya'll!


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